


the boy who runs with wolves; the man who acts like a wolf

by triesquid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF!Stiles, Character Death, Death, Episode: s02e12 Master Plan, F/F, F/M, Like several of them, M/M, Multi, On the Run, Panic Attacks, pack love is pure love, practical!Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 11:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triesquid/pseuds/triesquid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A "what if the events of Master Plan had gone differently" fic.  Like epically different.  Like Gerard winning different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the boy who runs with wolves; the man who acts like a wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone hasn't shown up in this chapter yet. Tags and characters and relationships and things reflect future chapters.
> 
> Tags, et al. may change as the story progresses. Fair warning.
> 
> ...
> 
> ...
> 
> ...OMG, I'm so sorry for writing this fic.

When the wolves run, Stiles runs with them.

When the wolves run from Beacon Hills, Stiles runs with them.

And, it’s not a safe, relocating kinda run.  It’s all panic and pain and blood and the realization that  _they are never going to be safe again_.

They’re not.

Everything’s soaked with blood and burned around the edges, and they had lost the war to the Argents.

One Argent.

Actually.  The Argents had lost the war too, had lost to one of their own.

And Gerard had—no, no time to think about it.  They had to run.

Derek, Isaac, and Scott piled into the black SUV after Chris Argent while Stiles and Lydia clamored into his trusty, old Jeep, and then, Peter Hale  _climbed over_  Lydia to sit in the back. 

And that wasn’t awkward or pivotal or anything other than reinforcing how completely fucked they all were.

Stiles drove recklessly, crazily away, hoping— _ohmygodohmygodohmygod_ —that they could get away from Gerard Argent fast enough, far enough.

They had to get  _away_.

They needed supplies.  That was the consensus between the divided Pack, sent through speaker-calls and frantic texts.  They needed supplies.

Because they were running, and they were never going to be able to  _stop running_.

They needed supplies, and they needed to get Pack-adjacent people out safe and sound.

Stiles turned towards his house, towards safety and normalcy and to the one person that always knew how to fix absolutely everything in Stiles life, if Stile would tell him— _just this once_ \--would just _let him_.

He pulled up to the house, saw the lights on and his dad’s car in the drive-way, and told Lydia and Peter to  _stay where they fucking were_.  He ran into the house, his call for his father dying on his lips.  Because—

Because, his father was home, but—

God, he hated that word.

But.  Gerard had been there first.

His father’s eyes looking at him glassy and accusing and  _dead,_  and there was absolutely nothing that Stiles could do for him now and  _it was Stiles’ fault_  because he had kept his father in the dark on the whole Werewolves in Beacon Hills thing.

Because Stiles had tried to protect him.

_You're killing me too._

Stiles could feel a panick attack niggling at the edges of his vision—a wide, tight band across his chest, squeezing his lungs empty—and savagely pushed it down, away.  He didn’t deserve panick attacks anymore.  Not after—

_Down and away._

Stiles ransacked the house:  food, guns, wolfsbane, bestiary, research, books, laptops, first aid kit, supped-up tazers, Kevlar weave clothes (that Stiles had been stocking up on for the last couple of months because he was really that fucking paranoid and rightly so evidently), his father’s gunbelt still sticky-warm with blood—anything and everything he could think of and that they could take with them and still be light enough to run.

Dragging everything out to the Jeep, he saw Lydia’s face and realized that she knew.  She knew what Stiles had found in his house.

That he was completely alone now.

And Stiles almost cracked again, right there when there were people that still needed him—even if he’d failed to save his father—none of them were safe—none of them _would ever be safe again_.  He  _needed not to do this right now_.

There wasn’t  _time_  for this.

_Down and away._

Another frantic round of calls and texts alerted everyone to what had happened to Stiles’ father, and shortly after that, what had happened to Scott’s mom too.

When they tried to get a hold of Danny, there was not answer:  not on his cell, not at his house, not on his parents' cells.  There was a disturbing amount of silent coming from that corner, which totally did not bode well for them.  For any of them.

_If Gerard had gotten Danny too—_ Again, Stiles had to push the panic down and away and hope that this didn't turn out to be what he thought it was, but when he caught Lydia's eye and heard the click in Scott's voice when he reported in that there had been no answer, Stiles knew that he wasn't wrong:  somehow— _for some reason_ —Gerard either had Danny.  

Or had killed Danny.

Just like Scott's mom.

Just like Stiles' dad.

_Fuck._

Gerard was picking away at everything that they loved.

Stiles would almost be impressed if he weren’t so fucking terrified and  _furious_.

And guilty.  

Look at all of that guilt.

They needed to regroup, take a few minutes, and develop some sort of  ~~revenge~~  plan.

They decided on the Hale House, knowing that it was obvious and stupid, but hoping that is was  _so_  obvious and  _so unbelievably fucking stupid_  that Gerard wouldn’t consider them going there.

Stiles turned up the overgrown forest road just as Chris turn in behind him, a long, slow climb through trees and leaves and moonlight.  When they reached the house, everyone kinda  _threw_  themselves out of the vehicles, engines still running.

That was a mistake.

That was a  _huge fucking mistake_.

Gerard was there, waiting for them, just as smug and superior and evil as he had been in the warehouse, but now—now he had them trapped properly.

He triggered something, and Chris’ SUV and Stiles’ Jeep just—stopped.

Everything stopped.

And the level of Not Good went to Defcon We-Are-So- _Fucked_  just like that.


End file.
